last year's words, this year's promise
by whatifellinlovewith
Summary: "And here he is, with an empty bed and his wife hours away, a chapter to finish and his plans crumbled and coffee cups— Wait. Coffee cups? Yes, coffee cups." Anniversary fluff.


**_Happy birthday, Ally! Enjoy this little piece of Hamptons fluff._**

* * *

" _ **Anyway, if you do see her, tell her she owes me about a hundred coffees."**_

* * *

He wakes up to an empty bed,, cold sheets next to him that don't smell like her. It offers little incentive to get his morning started, has him stranded between wanting to sink back into sleep and ignore her absence and wanting to drive back to the city as soon as possible so he can wrap his arms around her and pepper her face with kisses.

Who's brilliant idea was it to send him to the Hamptons _alone_ to write, anyway?

Gina's. It was Gina's _brilliant_ —stupid—idea to send him here by himself so he could be _productive_ and _get that chapter you owe me finished, Rick._

Gina, who has no idea that this weekend he was _supposed_ to be bringing Kate out to someplace fancy to celebrate their anniversary. And then Kate, who actually smiled at the idea and practically shoved him out the door with nothing but a kiss and _just give her what she wants, babe._

And here he is, with an empty bed and his wife hours away, a chapter to finish and his plans crumbled and coffee cups—

Wait. Coffee cups?

Yes, coffee cups. Sitting on her nightstand in a pile like they do on the back counters in their favorite coffee shop. Just white and stacked and he's positive they weren't there last night, but how else would they be there now?

He sighs, rolls across the bed to reach for them. Grabbing them, he rolls onto his back, his head landing on her pillow. It still smells faintly of her cherry shampoo.

He flips the stack in his hands, and turns out, the cups aren't just white. Well, the top one isn't.

Her neat handwriting is in dark blue across the top: " **To**.

He frowns at the word, at the open quotation mark before lifting the top cup off to reveal the second one. The same blue marker, the same perfect penmanship: **the**.

Cups still in his hand, he pushes himself into a sitting position, sets the first two side by side in front of him and looks down at the third one: **things**. He sets that one next to the other two.

There's two more cups before he reaches the closed quotation mark, the five cups lined up on the bed in front of him. " **To the things we missed."**

He said that. He remembers saying that, a glass of wine perched in his hand, standing in the kitchen, staring at her smile.

But there's more cups, all stacked in his hand. He looks down at the top one. The word on this one is written in red: " **And**. He smiles down at it, her response springing forward in his mind.. One small conversation over dinner, like so many others, that seems to mean so much to her.

He lines the next five cups side by side: " **And to those we didn't."**

The last five cups end up having words written on them in black, words caught between parentheses: **(And to those we won't).**

He stares at the message for a long time, its message an enigma, until his phone vibrates on his nightstand, lights up with a new text message from her. He reaches for it, swipes his thumb across the screen.

There's three messages. _Thinking of you,_ reads the first. _And babe, think of where we had that conversation,_ is the second. And finally, _I love you._

He smiles, types out his reply. _What are you up to?_

 _My secret._ He can practically see her smirk. _Go on, you'll find out._

He looks back down at the cups, already knows she wants him to go to the kitchen, find whatever is waiting for him there.

 _Fine,_ he texts back. _Love you._

He climbs off the bed, his phone still in his hand. The cups stay on the bed. He doesn't bother getting dressed, his heartbeat erratic with anticipation, fingers itching for whatever surprise she somehow left for him downstairs.

He bounds down the stairs, each footstep echoing through the room with a thud.

Once in the kitchen, though, it doesn't take him long to find the second, slightly shorter, stack of cups. It's sitting next to the espresso machine, fitting in almost perfectly but standing out all the same. He reaches for it, finds the word on top of the first cup written in green, along with the message on the next six: " **Because I've got you under my skin."**

It's their song. Well, their second song. The one she sings so perfectly and has let him join in on. Memories of shower medleys have his mind jumping to the ensuite bathroom.

He lines up the other seven cups, first, reads her message written in black— **(And deep in the heart of me.)** —and his heart, which she has certainly consumed the depths of, melts.

He snaps a picture of the message before heading back upstairs, bursting into the bedroom. He takes a picture of the first clue, too, before heading into the bathroom,.

The next set of cups is sitting on the vanity, between her toothbrush and his. He lines out the next message on the tiled floor.

" **You forgot your suit." (Wanna do it again?)**

He laughs, the memory one to never be forgotten. Her glistening, golden skin. The way her robe fell perfectly to the ground. His irritation when the first time he was going to skinny dip with _Katherine Beckett_ was interrupted by the most ill-timed and ill-placed dead body.

Not that he's bitter, because they did get to doing it, and have done it more than once since.

He sends her the picture of this one, along with a message. _You offering?_

Her answer comes almost instantly, punctuated with a winky face. _Mmm. If you want to_.

He groans. Actually groans and why are they spending this weekend apart, again?

His phone vibrates in his hand, another from her popping up on the screen. _Stop picturing me naked._ He does, pictures her rolling her eyes at him, tugging the corner of her lip into her mouth with her teeth, instead. _Keep going, babe,_ comes another message.

He sighs, but pushes himself off the bathroom floor, runs back down the stairs, heads out to the backyard. The damp, morning air is cool on his legs, and he silently thanks her for putting the next stack of cups close to the door. He darts back inside, the stack in hand, lines up the cups close to the backdoor.

" **You know how I deal with it?" "How?" "I open my eyes and look at you."**

 _Oh,_ he remembers saying that. Remembers holding her in his arms for hours, neither of them willing to fall asleep. He remembers watching her sleep for hours after she drifted off.

 **(I open mine and look at you.)**

His heart stutters as he takes the picture, hands itching for her. All he can see behind closed eyelids is her empty chair at the precinct, her wide eyes when they found her.

His phone goes off again, another message. _I'm okay. Keep going._

His gaze scans the room quickly, searching for her and how she knows him so well, how she arranged this. For a moment, he debates looking for her instead of the next stack of cups. But he doesn't.

The next clue is back in their bedroom, sitting by the foot of the bed. " **So, whatever you decide, I will back your play." (Like you've backed mine.)**

That was recent. He can clearly picture her eyes, pleading for forgiveness, can still feel the way her fingers brushed over his shoulder when he made his decision. Can still remember how tightly she hugged him when he stumbled out of that barn alive.

He smiles, heads back downstairs, pushes his way into his office where his computer is still open with the document he was working on yesterday. He closes the lid—Gina can't expect any progress now.

The cups are sitting on his chair this time, he lines them up on the desk. " **We will never, ever be boring." (You were… right.)** There's a separate cup for the suspension point. It draws a laugh from his chest.

He takes a picture, sends it to her. _This must have been so hard for you._

 _Don't make me take it back,_ comes her response. _Keep going. You're almost done._

It's the anticipation that has him bounding back down the stairs, into the living room. He finds the clue sitting on the couch, sets them down on the coffee table.

" **I almost died, and all I could think about was you. I just want you."**

He smiles down at the quote, at the memory that floods his consciousness. Her wet hair, damp skin. Hands firm on his shoulders, framing his face. He kiss, the first one, the second, the make out against his door, how he ravished her that night. How she loved him.

A ball suddenly forming in his throat, he swallows thickly.

He looks back down at the cups, the two still in his hand. The top one has a heart drawn on it, sweet and innocent and he traces the shape with the pad of his thumb before lifting it off the last one.

The single word written across it has his face breaking into a wide, happy smile.

 **Always.**

Just as he sets it down on the table, ready to take a picture, there's a knock on the door.

He has no question of who it is.

She opens the door before he does, arms open to him, ready for the kiss he presses to her lips. Her fingers frame his jaw, just like they did that night. His arms wrap around her waist, tug her against him.

"You're here," he whispers, dusting a kiss to her head.

"I think you figured that out a while ago," she chuckles, combing her fingers through his hair. "I'm surprised you waited for the last clue before coming to find me."

He shrugs. "I figured you had a plan."

She hums, her cheeks turning pink. "Well, thank you for letting me go through with my sappy plan."

He brushes another kiss to her temple. "Thank you for formulating a sappy plan for your sappy husband," he smiles, "sappy wife."

She punches him, jabbing her fist into his ribs.. "You tell _anyone_ I'm sappy and you will regret it."

He laughs, wraps his arm around her and tugs her against him. "Your secret's safe with me."

She pulls away slightly, just enough for press another kiss to his lips. "Happy four years, babe," she says, a smile illuminating her face so beautifully, so perfectly.

He kisses her again, hard and fast.

"Happy four years, Kate. I love you." He brushes a strand of hair behind her ear. "Always."


End file.
